Disposable heroes
by Bloedzuiger
Summary: The Agency hires a hitman to train one of their new Type 2 Cyborgs. This hitman, however, is rather unique. My first fanfic, so all feedback is welcome.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter one: ****Смерть**

"What exactly are we looking for?"

"An assassin, Triela. A good one, at that."

"How do you know?"

"Remember I was a cop not so long ago. He killed those hooligans without leaving any clues – all the police knows is that he used a combat knife, or maybe two. We'll probably get more information once the survivor wakes up, and then we can start searching."

"In any case, why are we doing this? Our job is to deal with terrorists, not gangsters."

"I've talked with Mario. He might be another survivor from Amsterdam, so I have a personal interest in his case. I hope you don't mind?"

"Well… I guess not."

**A week later**

"Hillshire, it seems the man spoke. You're looking for someone around his late teens or early twenties, bald, and very skilled with knifes. Oh, and he's blind, though that doesn't seem to affect his fighting. Should be an easy to spot combination."

"Thanks. Do we have an area?"

"Sort of. There have been several similar incidents recently around the location of the attack, but it's the first time there are any dead."

"Seems like our target lives nearby. Thanks for everything, Alessandro."

"You're welcome."

Hillshire grabbed his coat, put it on, and left. On the way out, he picked up Triela and explained the situation to her.

"So we're going to just roam the streets to see if we can find him?"

"More or less. There are a few places in which the attacks have happened more than once. We'll set up guard in one of those, and watch the people. Be careful though, we're going into one of the nastiest areas of the city. You'll grab some unwanted attention with the violin case, so don't let your guard down. And remember not to use the firearms unless it's strictly necessary."

"My guard's never down, so don't worry."

They got in Hillshire's car, and left. As the car moved on, the city streets looked dirtier and the people looked tougher. Soon afterwards, the Mercedes started making heads turn, and when they finally stopped, there were a few groups of people waiting for them to get off the car. Triela was the first to speak:

"What are we going to do? If we leave the Mercedes, they'll rob it, but if we go out they'll attack us. If only we could use our firepower…"

"We can't. See that group over there? Try to talk to them, and if they get aggressive, knock them out. It should get the message that we don't want to be bothered across. Then go to the watch point and look for the target. If you find him, follow him, and stay in contact through the cell-phone. I'll stay here, with the car, so that they don't take it while we're away."

"I don't really like this… If that man finds out I'm following him he could attack me…"

"Are you worried about getting killed?"

"No! I'm worried about killing him when you're so interested in him."

Hillshire laughed briefly, and then smiled.

"Don't worry, you're the best after all. If you can't do it, nobody can."

Triela smiled as well before leaving the car. She approached the gang, and told them that she'd like to pass through. One of them made a strange motion, and they started surrounding her, but before they even managed to form a half-circle, she'd kicked their leader in the stomach and punched another one in the face. She then turned to face the remaining four, but they kept their distances with wary eyes.

"Look, I just want to get through here, alright? Let me be, and I'll let you be"

"A'ight missy. Ya don't knock more 'o us cold, and we's won't take yar car. Deal?"

"Deal!"

After a few minutes, she was at the watching spot, a small room in a small floor of a dirty building overlooking a nearly empty street. She waited and looked, not losing her focus for a second. She thought she'd seen the target a few times, but after double checking, it happened to be too old both times. She wass talking with Hillshire about returning when she spotted another suspicious person – and this time, the age fitted.

"I think I've found him. I'll follow him, Hillshire. I'll get in touch soon!"

By the time she's hung up, she's already left the building and is running on the street, chasing after the nearly out of sight youngster. After a few confusing seconds, she spotted him entering a side street. She followed him and, to her dismay, found the street deserted.

_If I make any noise, he'll hear me! I can't allow that to happen._

She continued chasing him, as stealthily as possible, to a small building, which he entered, locking the gate after going through it.

_I guess that's good enough for one day. I'd better report in._

She pulled out her cell-phone and rung Hillshire. No answer. She began to run, dialling again, without any success. She broke into a full sprint, and made it back to the place where she'd left the car – but there was no car, nor any trace of Hillshire. She was about to ring HQ when someone tapped her back. She turned quickly, taking a defensive stance, but dropped it when she realized anyone who was behind her and meant her harm wouldn't have warned her of their presence.

To her surprise, she came face to face with the hooligans who she'd fought against before. Before she could say anything, they spoke:

"Look, we told ya we wasn't gonna take yar car. We didn't do it! I swear! Look, we can take ya to where they have it if ya want. They's got the guy that came with ya as well. So don't take it out on us!"

"Lead on. And no funny stuff."

She followed one of the youths through a labyrinth of streets, alleys, and houses to a deserted factory. In there, she could make out the sounds of several people making a huge ruckus.

"Look, ma'am, these guys are dangerous. I dunno what they are, but they's got big guns in there. So we're takin' off here. If I were you, I'd be nice'n'kind to them, so they dun't pull out tha nasty stuff."

The youngster started backing, and after a few steps he turned tail and run, half jogging. Meanwhile, Triela had already entered the building. Inside, about a dozen people were talking, yelling and screaming at each other, drinks in their hands. A few of them were leaning on a car - Hillshire's Mercedes. The noise started dieing out when she entered, until there was a nearly complete silence. She didn't wait for them to speak:

"Where is the man that was driving this car?"

"Who are ya to come askin' anything? This car's ours, so that man'd be me." Said one with his hair dyed green.

"I was in this car with a man ten minutes ago, so I know what I'm talking about. Where is he?"

"Ooh, so ya was with a man in this car, huh? Guess that explains why there was such a classy car in these slums. Now listen, we don't know what yar talkin' 'bout. First of all, this car's ours, but even if it wasn't , we wouldn't have seen anyone inside of it, or even near it. That good 'nuff for ya? Now scram, yar ruinin' tha mood."

"Just one more thing. If you don't know where he is, who would?"

"Hah! That'll cost ya somethin', sweetie. How 'bout… 100 bucks?"

"Alright. Here." Triela pulled the emergency money Hillshire had given her, and handed over the cash. She wasn't going to bargain if the information could lead her to her handler.

"Well, well, well… He might be in the back of our shack. An accident, ya know? No funny stuff now, we's got some nasty things and we ain't afraid of using 'em. No cops come 'round, see? Now go to the back and get yar dear outta here before I change my mind."

Triela ran to the back, kicked the door open, and entered. Inside, Hillshire was tied to a chair, gagged, and bruised all over the face and chest. She untied him, and whispered:

"Wait while I get the car back."

She pulled her handgun before he could reply and dived through the door, shooting several of the thugs before hitting the ground. The survivors tried to pull out their guns, but they died as well before managing to even take aim. The last one left was the green haired man, who managed to shoot once before being hit. His shot flew far from the target.

Triela went back into the room and helped Hillshire get inside the car before taking a seat herself. Seconds later they were heading back to HQ.

"Hillshire, are you alright?"

"More or less. It could be a lot worse, don't worry. I'm starting to wonder if we should drop the search, seeing the risks."

"No need. I found the assassin today, so we could end it tomorrow. We could just ask Giuseppe, or someone else, to drop us off and come pick us up, and that way we wouldn't have to worry about the car. How's that sound?"

Hillshire laughed briefly.

"Nobody would guess it was you who was whining before about searching for this guy. Why the sudden change?"

"I guess you must have passed it onto me."

Triela smiled, relieved. Nothing bad had happened, luckily.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two: ястреб **

The following day, Triela was called to meet with Hillshire in Lorenzo's office. When she arrived, Lorenzo and Hillshire were seated one in front of the other, arguing:

"I don't think he'd agree. And even if he did, we've got nothing to make sure he's not going to turn on us." Said the German calmly.

"It's not just my call. I've asked Jean, and he agrees with me. This would be a step forward for two reasons. First, we'd learn just how good Type two's are without their handlers, which is important to the long term research of cyborgs; and secondly, the team needs a takedown specialist."

"All the girls are killers. We don't need anyone else to do that."

"I'm not talking about killing. I'm talking about hits, taking down a single target. None of the current girls is trained for working alone – they've all practised team fighting. What we need is someone who can kill the enemy's leaders without killing everyone between them and their target."

"Then what about Sandro? He's a spy, he could do it with ease."

"He's against killing unless there's no other way. And we wouldn't be able to see how well the Type two performs alone. And, before we continue, Triela is here, so it's time for the mission to start. We can continue this later."

"Very well. But I still don't think it's a good idea. Goodbye." Said Hillshire, standing up. "Let's go." He said when passing next to Triela "I'll tell you what this is about in a minute." They walked to the parking lot, Hillshire limping slightly, but when Triela was going to the Mercedes, Hillshire touched her shoulder and pointed her to another car.

"Olga's going to drop us off, and come pick us up when we phone her. Wouldn't want yesterday's situation to happen again."

"Which reminds me – How did they manage to tie you to that chair?"

"One of the girls came and asked me for directions. When I opened the window, she hit me with a tazer. And now, for our current objective." Said Hillshire when they got in the car.

"It's to find that assassin guy, isn't it?"

"Yes, though with a few changes. We're supposed to try to recruit him as a handler now." Answered Hillshire with a displeased look.

"What!? But… Isn't he a criminal? Why would the Agency want anything to do with him? And why, if we need a handler, don't we get one from the NOCS or the military?"

"Hold on, and let me explain. I'm not really happy about this either, but it's not like we have any say in the matter. Apparently, the chief wants to test how well the new cyborgs work without their handler, so Jean suggested getting someone who couldn't fight. There are rather few people who have enough knowledge to be handlers but can no longer fight – one of them is our current target. The second reason is that we need an assassin ourselves. I don't really see the need for it, but Lorenzo does, and it's his opinion that matters."

"Still, he is far too young! Even if he does have the skills to kill, I don't think he can pass them on. And besides, it's dangerous! You'd be living next to a killer who'd have more than enough reasons to get rid of you!"

"Calm down. As I said, there isn't much we can do but follow orders from now. Let's put some faith in Jean and Lorenzo. There's nothing I'd like so much now but to be proven wrong, and find that my concerns were unnecessary. In any case, let's go over what we should do when we get off."

By the time they'd finished reviewing their objectives, they were back in the slums, near the place where Triela had seen the suspect go into a house.

"Well, thanks for the ride, Olga. See you soon!" Said Triela, leaving the car with Hillshire, who bent down to the car's window to speak with Olga.

"Thanks indeed. We'll meet again here in about an hour, if nothing goes wrong."

"Not a problem. Ring me if there's any change of plans." Replied Olga before taking off.

Triela and Hillshire walked for a couple of minutes before arriving to the house in which the assassin was supposed to live. She pulled out her lockpicks to force the lock open, while Hillshire made sure nobody was around.

_Well, now it's good that the street's empty. Guess everything has its advantages__._ She thought while working.

After a few seconds, the door was open, and they both checked that their guns were ready to fire before going inside.

They faced a badly illuminated corridor with its walls covered in mould, with a few blue patches, where the mould hadn't yet managed to grow. The lighting itself was flickering in a rather disturbing manner; but neither handler nor cyborg were deterred by it.

As planned, Hillshire headed for a random door, and knocked on it a few times. Moments later, an old man in a T-shirt that probably used to be white and short pants opened it, looking at the two intruders with suspicion.

"Whaddaya want?" He mumbled.

"Excuse us. We're looking for a blind man who lives in this building. Apparently, he forgot to mention on what room he lived when he requested social assistance, so I'm afraid we don't know where he lives"

"Oh, that guy. Sixth floor, letter B. Now scram!"

He closed the door in front of them before they could say anything else, so instead of thanking him they just started going upstairs. Minutes later, they were facing the door where the assassin was supposed to live. Hillshire nodded at Triela, who opened her Amati case, pulling out her shotgun and a flashbang. She took a breath, motioned Hillshire out of the way, and knocked the door down with a kick, and tossed the grenade inside. When the light had died away, she entered the room, only to find there was nobody inside.

"Oh. Clear, Hillshire. Watch your step, though, there's some stuff on the floor."

"I hope the man didn't send us to a room at random. That'd be a real bother – not to mention quite embarrassing." He said while walking inside. "I'll search the rooms – you keep guard at the door, in case he comes."

"Got it."

Time passed by, and the assassin didn't appear. Hillshire was about to finish his search, when he heard Triela call him outside.

"Err… Hillshire, would you mind coming for a second?"

"What is it?" He said on his way out. When he exited the room, he found Triela aiming with her shotgun at the killer, who apparently heard him come and turned to face him.

"If she's under your command, I'd rather you told her to lower that weapon."

"Wait a second, Triela. Remember we're here to talk."

She lowered her shotgun without a word.

"Thank you, sir. Now, how about we discuss things in my house? It's not a conference room in the Ritz, but I think it'll do."

"Very well." Answered Hillshire, and the three of them went in. The blind man led them to a small room with a table, several chairs around it and no decoration at all. He sat on one of the chairs, and motioned them to sit as well, then waited for them to speak. After a few tense seconds, Hillshire spoke:

"Before we begin with the more formal matters, there is one thing I must ask you. It might be personal, so I hope you won't mind."

"Depends on what it is. Say it, and I'll decide then whether I want to answer or not."

"Were you one of the survivors of the Amsterdam snuff films?"

The blind man smiled half-heartedly before answering:

"Personal question indeed. Yes, I was there. Yes, I got out. No, I'm not telling you how I did it, and no, I'm not going to speak of my experiences in any program, documentary, or trial. Now it's my turn to ask: Why the interest?"

"Well… She's a survivor from Amsterdam as well, so we have a rather personal interest in finding out other survivors. And now, onto more important business. I belong to one of the Government's Agencies, an anti-terrorist one. You have attracted our attention, and we'd like to know if you'd be willing to work for us."

"I need more information before answering. Telling me what the job involves, and why you're coming with a little girl with a shotgun would be a good start."

"So you don't object to joining the Agency then?"

"Not yet. As I said, I can't answer for now."

"You would be hired as a handler, which means you would be taking care of a child, teaching them how to carry out missions. That's why Triela is with me – I'm her handler. These children are more than normal children, though I can't tell you the details for now, so it would be like training a soldier, more or less."

"And where do you get these children from? I don't expect you to run newspaper ads."

"They are chosen from gravely injured and maimed children. Without the treatment they're given upon joining the Agency, most of them would be dead by now."

"Then why only give that treatment to a few children, and not every one of them?"

"It reduces their lifespan greatly. So, effectively, we're giving them a few more years of life. A second chance, so to speak. So, what is your answer?"

"Hm… I guess I'm in. Where would I be going to do this job?"

"We'll be giving you a room in our building. Come with us now, you'll start right away."

"Alright. I just need one thing." He got up and left, returning a few seconds later with a large black wooden box. "I'm ready. Lead on."

"Alright. By the way, what is your name?"

"Sergei. Yours?"

"Victor Hillshire."

"And I'm Triela. Nice to meet you!"

A while later, they were back at the Agency's main building. Hillshire told Triela to head back to the dorms, while him and Sergei headed over to the medical section.

"Here we are. I'll leave you with the doctors. See you around."

"Bye! Now, why am I on the medical wing?" He asked the nearest breathing thing, which he expected to be a doctor.

"Well, you are the new handler, right? So you have to choose your fratello."

"Choose?"

"Yes, you get to choose the child you want to be your fratello from a list we give you, and then you get to choose their aspect. So it's all your choice."

"I'm fine with anything, as long as she has good eyesight."

"Oh, and one final thing. What's her name going to be? It's traditional to make it a boy's name, though it's not compulsory."

"Let me think… I guess Hawk's fine."

"That's an animal's name…"

"So what? Hawk it is."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: паук**

Sergei woke up. His first day at the Agency had been pretty intense, but that hadn't kept the dreams away. Nothing ever did. Not pills, not alcohol, nothing. He was used to it by now, waking up in the middle of the night gasping for air. His hands, once again, felt sticky with blood; even though he knew it had to be sweat. He washed his hands trying to calm down his pulsing heart, and when he was done, he put on his training equipment and left. He made his way to the outside of the building, enjoying the cold breeze, and listened carefully.

The wind was shaking the leaves, there was a dog barking quite far and, from time to time, a car passed near the building. He stood there, simply listening, for a few minutes, and then made his way to the firing range. Luckily for him, he'd been given a tour of the facilities that same morning, and he had developed an excellent sense of orientation, so he arrived without much trouble. The problem was, however, that he'd forgotten that they locked it every night, so he made his way back to his room and grabbed his keys and, since he was already there, he also took his handgun, and some ammunition.

He entered the firing range carefully, knowing that it would be easy to fall if he stepped on a bullet or a cartridge. He made his way to one of the firing positions, and then searched for the target that corresponded to it.

_I'd have it easier if this thing breathed. It should be somewher__e around here, in any case. _

After locating it, he positioned himself and started firing. His precision was rather good for a blind man, since he knew where the target was and what shape it had. As he fell into the routine of firing and reloading, his thoughts drifted off, and his pace of his shots became slower.

_So now I'm a father of sorts. Well, here they describe it as a brother, but somehow I get the feeling I'll have to take care of the girl far more than any normal brother. I wonder how she's going to be like. For all they've told me, and what I've gathered from the other girls, she's going to be pretty freaky, and obsessed about me. No, wait, they told me they'd already fixed that. Yeah, and they also told me that the one that was supposed to be fixed is in love with her handler as well. Bloody scientists, always messing up in some small but important thing._

_Sometimes I get the feeling I'm going in cycles. It's true enough that this place has nothing to do with, well, that one, but there are similarities. I hope I didn't make a mistake in joining. Anyhow, if I did, it's too late to regret it. And I still haven't got any idea of what I'm going to teach her. I know I'm supposed to teach her to "be an assassin", but what on Earth does that mean? And I certainly can't have her trained just as I was. So… first lesson… I guess this'd be it, firearms. Except I've been told that they have coordination problems the first few days, so she's more likely to shoot me than the target._

_Got it! Survival in the wild. It doesn't require coordination, and I'll be able to teach her to pay attention to her surroundings. Well, I hope. Now what would we need…_

His thoughts were interrupted suddenly when he heard someone enter the building. He crouched, knowing that he had the advantage in the dark, and waited for whoever it was to come in.

The lights flickered alive, and he dropped his stance. If they knew where the lights were, they probably were allowed in here. He heard the door open again, and two voices speaking. Apparently, the newcomer was one of the cyborgs named Rico, and the other man was the range's security guard. He aimed at the target, which was probably in shreds by now, while the girl entered the range itself. She stopped, probably surprised to find someone there, and then walked up to him.

"Hi! You're the new handler, right?"

"I guess so. My name's Sergei. What's yours?" Even though he knew it, he thought it polite to ask.

"I'm Rico. Pleasure to meet you. Um… Is it true you're blind?"

"Yes, it is. Since I was pretty young. Why?"

"Triela told me, but I didn't believe it. But why are you here so early?"

"I had some trouble sleeping, so I spent the night here. I shot some, and I thought some."

"Alright! Well, I've got to practice, bye!" She said while running to another firing position.

_I'd better go have breakfast now. I hope I manage to get some rest tomorrow, or my "fratello" is going to get a very bad impressio__n. _

Sergei walked back to the main building, and headed for the dining room. Most people were starting their breakfast, so he simply joined the queue, got his meal, and went to take a seat at an empty table, but before he could deduce where it was, he got called by an unfamiliar voice.

"Sergei, come sit with us. You're a new handler, after all, and we'd all like to know more about you – and your fratello."

"Fair enough. But before you ask, know that there are some parts of my life I'd rather forget, and not talk about."

"We've all had our hard times. Don't feel forced to talk about anything."

He followed the voice to another table in which several people were seated. Judging from the previous comments the man had made, they were probably the handlers. He took a seat, a deep breath, and introduced himself.

"Well, I'm Sergei. I'm pretty sure you already have researched about me quite a lot, but feel free to ask anything else. Just don't expect me to answer to everything."

"Well, introductions first." Said the same voice from before. "I'm Giuseppe, to my right is my brother Jean, and to my left is Hillshire. I think you know them both? In front of me, and to your left is Marco."

They all said their greetings as they were named, and then kept quiet for a few seconds. Jean was the first to speak.

"You are right, we know quite a lot about you. But I'd rather hear your story from your own lips. Is that alright?"

"More or less. My youth was pretty uninteresting and unhappy. When I was starting my teens, my parents sold me to a child traffic ring, and I ended up in Amsterdam. There I was blinded, but before they finished me off, the stage was attacked by a rival mafia group, who released me. I trained with them and helped them in their fight against the rival organizations, but in the end they were disbanded through rather forceful means, so I became a contract killer. A few years ago I retired with what I'd earned, and that's when Hillshire contacted me."

"Why retire, though?" Intervened Hillshire.

"Because I didn't want to keep risking my life. I'm blind, but I appreciate what I have. And I had enough money to be able to retire."

"What weapons do you use?" Asked Jean right after he'd finished.

"Mainly, knives. I've also got a handgun, but I'm pretty bad with it under normal circumstances, so I normally throw my knives if I need to hit something from afar. They're poisoned, so even a scratch is lethal."

"Alright. I think that is all, isn't it?"

"I've got one final question." Said Marco. "How do you intend to take care of your fratello?"

"As best as I can. Advice is welcome, because this is a first for me."

They spent the rest of the breakfast giving him tips for training Hawk, in a friendlier mood. When they were done, he went to his room, stored the firearm, and grabbed his forearm sheathes, which contained the knives he used to train because they hadn't been poisoned; and his MP3, and set out. This time, though, instead of heading to the normal training area, he went to the nearby woods, to practice in solitude. He put the headphones and started practicing unarmed combat, the movements he was so familiar with flowing one after another in harmony and with a deceiving softness. After a few seconds, the movements started getting stronger, the softness fading, and the harmony disappearing. After a few minutes, he calmed down, sat under a tree, and put his head between his knees.

_So much to do, so little time… I've got to get over this. Now. I don't have enough time to waste it complaining about my luck__._

He headed back to his room with that though in his head. After spending the whole day and part of the previous night training, he was exhausted. Exhausted enough to keep the nightmares at bay, he hoped while he undressed before trying to sleep in his bed once again.


	4. Chapter 4

Three children, early in their teens, were talking in front of the bank. Maria, one of the bank's cashiers, had been watching them intermittently for about fifteen minutes, bored from having to work on Christmas day. They were standing across the street from the bank, and they looked pretty normal: two were boys, one blond and one hazelnut; the last one was a blonde girl, and looked like the blond boy's sister. The hazelnut boy was carrying a suitcase, and his friends, backpacks, so they probably were waiting for someone to join them before going somewhere.

Maria turned her attention to one of the clients. When she looked again, they were crossing the street through a zebra crossing, still chatting happily. They went in front of the bank, and split up. The blonds went to opposites sides of the bank, while the hazelnut opened the bank's door and flung the suitcase inside, running away afterwards.

A loud explosion shattered the windows of the bank, blowing up the entrance's checkpoint. Half a second afterwards, the youngsters were entering the bank, the blonds carrying handguns, and the brown-haired boy with a knife in each hand.

"Nobody move! Lie on the floor, hands on your head. Now!" Yelled one of the blonds, firing a shot at the ceiling.

The few people that were in the bank at that unfortunate time obeyed. The bank's guards didn't, and the three of them did the same movement to pull their guns. Before they could take aim, they were dead on the floor, bullet holes right in the middle of their foreheads. The blonds lowered their guns while their companion asked Maria for the money.

"Give us all the money in the bank. Not a single word." He said calmly.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't do that." Said Maria, brave on the outside but terrified on the inside.

The boy answered with a flick of his wrist, slicing her throat. He then spoke louder:

"The money, all of it. Don't try our patience."

One of the cashiers went to take it. The boy looked away from her, and started observing the hostages.

"How many did the boss say?" He asked.

"Six, I think." Answered the other boy, while the girl nodded.

"We're missing two. You, get up" He pointed at a woman who was hugging a little girl.

"Oh no please don't…" She said, words failing her when the tears overwhelmed her. The boy ignored her, grabbed her from the neck, and stabbed her in the jaw, his knife reaching up to the brain, killing her and then dropping her on the ground.

The little kid started crying, hugging her mother and asking her to speak to her. The killer looked at her, lifted her by the neck, and stabbed once again, this time in the heart. When he dropped the small corpse on the ground, he said:

"I think that makes six, doesn't it?"

"Pretty much. Let's get moving." The two blonds had filled their backpacks with money,,and were now waiting at the door. Sirens sounded in the distance while the criminals run into an alley and entered the sewers, closing the hatch after them.

"Took you long enough" Said another boy, standing up and handing the hazelnut boy a bag "Here's your stuff, Spider."

"Thanks Fox." He started rummaging in the bag, and pulled out a grenade and some wire. In a few seconds, he'd armed a booby trap on the sewer's entrance and another one on the corridor. "I think that'll do."

"Then let's keep moving. They'll probably be here soon." Said Fox, running deeper into the sewers.

They had been walking for about a minute when they heard an explosion in the sewers, and started running. Fox guided them through a labyrinth of tunnels to another hatch. Outside, a car was waiting for them. The blondes opened the trunk, dropped their backpacks inside and pulled out SMGs, while Fox sat at the wheel, and Spider tinkered with something from his bag, on one of the back seats.

"So how did it go?" Asked Fox, starting the engine and driving away calmly and discreetly.

"Pretty well. Wolf 7 got a couple of headshots, I only managed to get one." Said the blond boy. "And Spider killed the rest of the quota, but they were unarmed."

"Not bad. Uh-oh, cops. I wish I looked old enough to be driving this thing legally." Fox accelerated, rushing past a police car in a crossroads.

"Damn! They're chasing us now, Fox!" Said the girl, Wolf 7.

"They'd be chasing us anyways if they saw me driving. Don't shoot, though, I think I can shake them off."

"I've got something they won't like here. Get us somewhere safe and I'll get rid of them." Said Spider, throwing something up and then catching it in the air.

"Got it. We're leaving the city in about one minute, and we'll be going through a tunnel under repairs. The workers are gone, so it's just us and them."

"A nice setting if I ever saw one."

When they entered the tunnel, Spider looked out the window and dropped something. When the police car was going over it, he pressed the detonator, causing it to go up in flames.

Fox drove for about half an hour until they reached a small dirt road in the countryside. They followed it inside a forest, where it ended in front of a large concrete building. Outside of the building, more youngsters were training, some of them in an improvised firing range and some of them in unarmed combat.

The bank robbers got off the car and headed inside of the building, where two middle aged men were waiting for them.

"Reporting mission success, sir." Said the blond boy.

"Excellent, W6. What's the loot?" Answered one of the men.

"Two bags full of money."

"Casualties?"

"The six we were ordered at the bank, and outside probably two or three policemen, in a car."

"Fair enough. Go to sleep, W6, W7, S5. You'll have a busy day tomorrow."

When they were out, they started talking again:

"Fair enough? We just got about two thousand dollars, no wounded, no trace… We did fucking great, not just well!"

"Heh, I agree. But we'd better get some rest, tomorrow's going to be busy. As always. G'night, wolfies." Said Spider, heading to the showers. He heard them saying goodbye, so he waved. He entered the showers, undressed, and headed for the nearest empty one, closing the door once inside. He opened the tap, and enjoyed the feeling of the cold water on his skin. He realized he had some blood on his hands. He tried to wash it away, but it just wouldn't go, so he just put the shower's head to hit them straight, but instead of washing it off, the water turned red as well. He ignored it, and tried to leave the shower, but the lock was stuck. Suddenly, the sink got stuck, and the water level started rising. But it wasn't water, it was blood. He was up to his knees, his waist, his neck… Nobody heard him hitting the door.

Sergei woke up startled once again, and went to the bathroom to wash his hands. Another great beginning for another great day.


	5. Chapter 5

She was floating, somewhere… she could hear voices, but whose, she couldn't tell. There was a bland whiteness around her, growing sharper as the voices spoke.

– When will she be awake? – Asked one of them, a male voice.

– Pretty soon. We should leave now. Triela's waiting outside, she'll probably want to give her a tour of the facilities when you're done talking to her. – Said another voice.

– Thank you, Bianchi.

The voices fell silent, and she waited for the calmness to come back and wash her consciousness away, but it didn't happen. Instead, she felt more and more aware of her surroundings as time passed by: the sound of rain falling, a gentle, cold breeze touching her head, carrying the scent of wet earth… She was fully awake now, and she opened her eyes, and looked around. She was in a hospital room, so everything was impersonal and white. Sleeping on a chair in the room was a young man, wearing a T-shirt and jeans, both of them black. She tried to say something, but her voice failed her and she simply whispered nearly noiselessly. The man, however, must've heard her, because he raised his head and looked at her.

– So you are awake. Do you know who or where you are?

The question sprang doubt in her mind, which was immediately quietened. She was Hawk- _why do I have an animal's name?_- and she was in the Agency-_ how did I get here?_- in order to help someone kill people.

– I think I do – The man was freaking her out, staring at her with his eyes closed. – I'm Hawk, right? And this place is the Agency. And I'm supposed to help someone kill others.

– Right, more or less. You aren't going to help anyone kill others, but rather going to learn how to kill them, and then do it yourself. I'm your handler and trainer, and likely the person you'll hate most in a few weeks' time. Call me Sergei. We'll go shopping for gear this afternoon and start training tomorrow morning, which means you only have half a day to meet your team mates, the other cyborgs. Once we start training, there'll be no breaks or holidays unless you earn them. During training, you will what as I say, when I say so. Outside of training, you're free to do as you please.

He stood up, said he'd pick her up in a few hours, and left. Half a second later, another young girl entered. She was blonde, wearing her hair in long pigtails, and looked a lot friendlier than Sergei.

– Good, you're up! I'm Triela – She introduced herself, smiling. – And you're Hawk, right?

– I… think so. Who was that jerk from before?

– That's Sergei, your handler. – Triela blinked in surprise when she heard that, because no _fratello_ should be able to say that about their handler.

– So he was telling the truth… – Mumbled Hawk, getting off the bed.

– Here, I got you these – Said Triela, handing her some clothes. – Get dressed, and I'll show you around – She finished, with another smile.

Once Hawk was done, Triela took her to meet the other cyborgs, who were having breakfast. She entered the lunch room, got a generous ration of food for her and another one for the new cyborg, and headed towards the rest, who were chatting in one of the tables. She took a seat and greeted everyone. Hawk followed suit, rather nervous.

– Um… Hi… I'm Hawk. – She couldn't really think of anything else to say. She didn't remember her birthday, schools she'd been to, or even hobbies.

–Hi! – Said cheerfully another blonde girl, this one with short, boyish hair. – I'm Rico, pleasure to meet you.

She was the first to introduce herself, but everyone did so as well. Soon, Hawk was chatting with them normally, her nervousness gone.

– Well, I've got to go – Said the girl who'd introduced herself as Henrietta. – Jose said he'd help me with today's firing practice, so bye!

It seemed as if this was some secret signal. Everyone started leaving to do their training, including Triela, which left Hawk alone and bored. She decided to go talk with her handler, and so asked the first person she found where to find him. She was told that Sergei liked to train in the woods near the dormitories, so she headed there, determined to find him and ask him why he was so obnoxious.

When she found him, he was in a little clearing in the woods, doing vertical push-ups with one hand. He'd removed his T-shirt, probably because he was sweating a lot, and was listening to music through his headphones. His eyes were still closed, as they'd been when he'd talked to her that morning. She walked close, sat on top of a rock, and waited for him to notice her. After a few minutes, he stopped his exercise, removed his headphones, and seemed to notice her for the first time.

– Hawk, right? What are you doing here?

His sightless gaze unnerved her again, and instead of all the dialogs she'd been making in her head, she stuttered:

– Well, it's about the training… does it have to be so rough?

The man smiled before answering.

– It's not rough. We simply don't have time to do it any other way. I'm not going to make it harder than it needs to be, but it is hard by itself. And I'm likely going to have to push you to your very limit and hold you there for months.

– Okay, so that explains the lack of breaks. But why did you say I was going to hate you?

– Because I'm not going to go easy on you either. And that means you're going to have to make an effort in just about anything you do. Which will wear you out, and in due time, make you hate me. And, speaking about time, since you have enough to search for me, we might as well start training in close combat techniques.

The following hour flied by. She learned how to deflect hits, how her footwork should go, and how to deliver blows. It was a very basic lesson, and as Sergei noted when they were over, it wouldn't do her any good in a fight against someone who knew what he was doing. But it was a start, after all. When they were heading back to the HQ to get ready for the shopping, she couldn't help it any longer and asked, even though she expected the answer:

– Why don't you open your eyes?

– It wouldn't make any difference. I'm blind. – Answered Sergei.

– Doesn't that make it harder for you to do… well, everything?

– It's a matter of practice, and I'm very used to it. Now, come on.

They walked to Sergei's room, but only he went in. After a few seconds, he came out with a couple of forearm sheaths, which he was putting on underneath his long sleeved T-shirt, and money.

– Shall we? – He said, handing Hawk a note – We'll take a bus to the mall, so take this and buy yourself a ticket.

The journey to the mall was pretty uninteresting. Hawk wanted to ask him questions, but a crowded bus wasn't the place to talk about a secret agency, so she bit her tongue and waited. The mall was no better, and she assumed they wouldn't be able to speak freely until they were back at the Agency, so instead she focused on the shopping. It seemed that Sergei had a pretty clear idea of what he wanted for her, so her function was mainly to try things on and say if they fitted her. By the time Sergei was done, she had a military uniform, helmet and boots, a survival knife, a tent, and just about anything her handler had thought she could need.

– But what do I need this for? – She asked once they were outside the mall, waiting for the bus again.

– Survival in the open. We're leaving tomorrow morning, so I had to get the gear today. You'd better get a lot of sleep.

– Oh, great – she said unenthusiastically.

When they arrived back at the agency, she wanted to interrogate him some more about himself, and about the Agency, but he refused to answer any questions, saying there would be more than enough time tomorrow, and sent her to bed, which she grudgingly did.


End file.
